Shift
by L.M.Lewis
Summary: Sometimes you change gears; sometimes it's a whole new car.


Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and I make no profit from them.

Rated: G

Author's note: Just a snippet. Much discussion ensued between betas, car guys, and author on the subject of top speeds of the various cars involved. All I have to say is: Professional driver, closed course; do not try this at home.

Thank you Cheri and Susan!

Shift

By L. M. Lewis

He really thought he was too wired to sleep, even after being up for nearly twenty-four hours. After he made the phone call he sat down in the empty lobby, watching the guy with the mop and wheeled bucket making slow swaths of progress across the tile floor. And the next thing he knew, someone was tapping him on the shoulder.

"Huh?"

"Well, I hope she looks better than you do." It was Hardcastle, who'd sat himself down on the chair opposite and was smiling broadly. "So, can I see him?"

Mark rubbed his face and blinked a couple times. It was several shades closer to dawn and the guy with the mop and bucket was gone. "Oh, yeah. What time is it?"

"5:45."

McCormick nodded muzzily then said, "Hey, he's gonna turn two hours old in a couple of minutes." He got up with a push off the chair and stood for a moment, as if trying to remember which way the elevators were. "Oh, and if anybody asks, you're his grandpa. They don't let anyone but close family up there except during regular visiting hours."

"Jeez, he's not even dry and you're already working the scams for him." The judge shook his head.

"Well, do you want to see him or not?" McCormick asked sensibly. "It's not like we're breaking into impound or anything; he's my _son_," he added with the satisfaction of saying the word with a whole new meaning.

00000

Even the upstairs hallway was dimly lit at this early hour, and the nursery on the other side of the window was relatively quiet. Mark waved at the nurse. She smiled and went to one of the back row bassinets, pointing to the card which read: 'McCormick, Baby Boy'. Mark nodded back, grinning, as she wheeled it closer to the window.

The judge studied the whole process with a stirring of old memory. Then he was smiling down at the little occupant, pink and fairly anonymous, with his stockinet cap and a swaddling of pale blue blanket.

Mark was leaning up against the window, with the fingertips of one hand splayed out onto the glass near the bottom. "His name is Matthew Milton McCormick." Then there was a pause. "For his two grandfathers," he added quietly, "no scam."

All the words of congratulation had gone right out of the judge's head. He looked down at his namesake, and then over at the man who had just given him something he thought he'd never have, and all he could think to say was, "Thank you."

00000

"How's Kathy?" the judge asked as McCormick poured them both coffee in the smaller sixth-floor waiting area.

"Still asleep. Her mom's with her. I'm supposed to go home for a few hours. Did you drive?"

"Nope, cab. I said I'd drive you home."

"Good," McCormick fished around in his pocket as they walked toward the elevator. "You get to try out the new car." He smiled as he tossed the keys over.

Hardcastle grabbed them with his free hand as they stepped into the elevator. "We should go back to the estate. You haven't had breakfast, have you?" Mark shook his head. "No dinner either, I'll bet."

"Um," Mark frowned, "I don't think so. We were busy. They kept saying everything was going okay but, man, you could've fooled me."

"Well, modern times. Back when, you just paced in the waiting room till they gave the 'all clear' sign."

"Eighteen hours? They would've needed new tile."

They stepped off and walked through the lobby. The lot was filling up with the arrival of the day shift. Mark led them across two aisles and pointed the judge at the car. The older man stopped, looked down at the key, noticing the insignia for the first time, then up at McCormick again.

He put the key in the driver's door lock and opened it, looking inside briefly and then at Mark with increased astonishment. "McCormick, this is a Volvo. A Volvo with an_ automatic_ transmission."

"Yup. 6-cylinder, inline, two overhead cams, twenty-four valves."

"It's a _Volvo_." Hardcastle slid in behind the wheel and opened the passenger door. McCormick climbed in. He looked sideways at the younger man. "I gotta say, this is the _one_ car I never imagined you buying."

"Okay," Mark interrupted with chagrin, "I was outvoted. Kathy already had Matt's proxy last week. It has an excellent safety record and," he hitched his left thumb over his shoulder, "an integrated child safety seat."

Hardcastle nodded as he backed out carefully. "It's a very _nice _car," he said, placatingly.

"And I buried the needle at 191 last week."

"You got this up _that_ fast?" Hardcastle looked at him, horrified.

"Kilometers. It's _Swedish._"

"Ah," the judge did the math. He still looked a little concerned. "Not on Mulholland, I hope?"

"No, over at E.J.'s track; he clocked me on the straightaway. Closed course, professional driver. 'Do not try this at home.'" McCormick grinned wearily.

"What'd Kathy say?"

"Oh, something about hoping I'd gotten it out of my system."

"I'll second that."

"Oh, like you never buried a needle. How 'bout the 'Vette?"

"Um, 123, that's miles, not kilometers. But that didn't top it off."

McCormick gave a low whistle. "Not a closed course, I'll bet."

"I'm not saying." Hardcastle laughed. "Anyway, the statute of limitations is up on that one."

"Yeah, would've been a hell of a moving violation, though," McCormick leaned back against the seat, smiling.

"What about the Coyote?"

"On the road or the track?"

"The road."

"135. Briefly. On I-15 just north of Baker."

"On the _interstate_?" Hardcastle shook his head in disbelief.

"I had the road to myself, and I was late for my parole meeting," McCormick reminded him. "_You_ made me late," he added with a laugh. "Anyway, there was room on top of that, but that's as fast as I'll go without a helmet and asbestos underwear." He leaned his head back and let his eyes drift closed. "No more of that, though," he added quietly, almost to himself.

"Huh?"

"Oh, Barb Johnson called a couple weeks ago. A museum up in Michigan wants to do an exhibit on Flip's design work. She asked me to loan them the Coyote and his notes. Six months. That_ should_ get it out of my system," he murmured.

The judge glanced aside at the younger man, who now looked more than half-asleep. "Things change," he said quietly.

"That they do," McCormick replied, more awake than he had appeared. "But mostly for the better." He opened his eyes and looked at Hardcastle. "This is a very _nice_ car. Solid." He patted the arm rest next to him. "Safe."

"Reliable."

"Absolutely." McCormick grinned. "And it can still do 120 miles an hour in a pinch."


End file.
